Tears of Hate
by 7Kleio
Summary: After all, hate is just love with its back turned.
1. scorpion and candlelight

Disclaimer: NOT MINE! I am playing in a universe created by others and make no claim whatsoever in regards to ownership! Note: Quotations from Susan Kay's work are contained herein. Those aren't mine either!

Part One: The scorpion and the candlelight

"You try my patience!" He snarled, the fury in his voice frozen to diamond hardness and so much more frightening than any of his rages had ever been... "Make your choice!"

Christine felt her heart falter, pause, and begin pounding; her head suddenly felt so light and she swayed involuntarily. Cold, then hot, then cold, neither, both! Her head ached so badly, her forehead still stung badly, yes, but oh, the horrible swirling emptiness at the base of her skull...! Cold again, so cold! This could not be happening... How had things spiraled so far out of control? If she had just listened to Raoul, if they had left the Opera immediately, they could have been so far away, could have been safe. There would be no decision to be made, no icy hatred in Erik's voice, no panic from Raoul inside the torture chamber, no grasshopper, no scorpion. No choice.

No choice. She couldn't hurt either of them, not her Raoul, or her dark angel. For her angel he still was. _Oh, Papa. You sent me my angel, but I'm so afraid! I don't know what to do. I'm too afraid-- I can't-- It hurts, Papa, it hurts so much!_

No choice. Dimly through the throbbing pain she heard Erik saying something, Raoul's continued pleas and cries from behind the wall of the torture chamber. Time slowed and the world became fuzzy... She saw Erik reaching towards the grasshopper.

_I'm afraid of my angel, Papa, and I'm so afraid to die._

The Dies Irae on the walls, the red drapes and the organ, the coffin-- _the cat's basket, a flea's silk palace-- Papa, please, tell me what to do--!_

No choice. Christine saw her hand move of its own accord, reaching out, and though the rest of the world seemed slow and fuzzy, her hand moved at normal speed, so much more quickly than anything else... No choice...

The scorpion rotated easily in her grip. Her heart was beating so hard... The world sped up again, the fog dissipated somewhat, but she was still so cold. Her voice, was that her voice? Such a hoarse whisper-- did she really sound like that?

"Erik, I have turned the scorpion."

And the world turned black.

Shadows, someone was afraid, was begging her not to leave. Darkness, the scent of roses and candles, gentle hands holding hers, a caress against her cheek. Someone helping her to drink something that made the blinding pain release her and retreat. A lullaby, soft and achingly beautiful.

_Angel_…

She woke slowly, the pain in her head so distant that she could almost ignore it.

In the faint glow of a candle there was a shadow seated by the bed, her angel, and he was radiating sadness. "Erik?" It was such an effort to even whisper!

"Christine…" His voice made a caress of her very name, but there was so much pain in it! The anger and coldness was gone, as though it had never been. Or had it ever been there at all? The world was fuzzy again and she struggled to focus. The scorpion, yes, she remembered the feel of its ebony smoothness under her fingers, remembered anger, pain, fear, but there was something else, something important…

A choice, no choice, pain and angry cries…

"Is Raoul, I mean, is he—?"

"Hush." Erik whispered, his hand tremulously caressed the outline of her hair, coming close—so close!—but not touching. "Your boy is uninjured. Rest now."

"Erik… I… what…?" Christine stirred restlessly. Her hands felt so cold, but the blanket was smothering her! If she could just push it off…

He withdrew his hand. "The vicomte is safe." Erik said quietly in answer to her unspoken question, "He has been returned to his home and is quite well. But you must rest now."

"Mmm." Christine fought to keep her eyes open, but it was so hard! The blanket was too much to worry about just now. It could wait…

"Hush." Erik repeated gently. He reached out his hand again, ever so slowly, and this time she felt the faintest touch against her hair. "You've been ill."

"Tired and… it hurts…" Her eyes slid shut for a moment and she turned her head toward his hand. His hands were normally as chilled as she imagined Death's would be, but her head felt on fire and the cool touch of his long fingers was so good.

He started, eyes wide in the candlelight, but didn't pull away.

Christine shifted slightly against the pillows, eyes slowly closing, and reached up to lay her own hand over his, to make certain that soothing touch wouldn't disappear. "Erik…"

"Yes?" His voice was softly incredulous, colored with wonder.

The world began to fade again, but that was all right. The blanket didn't feel so uncomfortable anymore. Raoul was safe and her angel was there… "Erik." She sighed.

"Christine…"


	2. candlelight and darkness

Part Two: Candlelight and darkness

When Christine woke, the pain was gone. As was Erik.

On her nightstand stood a solitary candle, yielding just enough light to recognize her room and the white satin draped over the chair at her dressing table. With a heated blush, Christine realized that Erik must have removed the wedding dress and her corset while she was ill. The momentary burst of mortified anger vanished with the realization that it would have been quite impossible for her to recover while fully dressed—_and impossible for him to take care of me_. She shook her head slightly. Such thoughts were frightening and she pushed them away.

The world no longer seemed to be at the end of a dark tunnel. Her hands were no longer shaking from cold and her head felt relatively normal again, though a cautious foray with her fingers revealed remnants of pain in her forehead, most likely lingering bruises.

Those moments of insanity flashed again before her—the utter fury and hatred in Erik's music after he'd left, telling her to put on the wedding dress. She had still been half dazed—it had seemed not even moment ago that she had been singing Marguerite's invocation to the angels, drowning in helplessness in regard to her own angel and in guilty relief that Raoul had spared her the decision…And then everything had spun out of control, like being swallowed by a shattered kaleidoscope. Erik, who she had believed would never hurt her…Not even the first time she had seen his face had she ever been so very afraid of him! The morass of fear, grief, and panic had swirled and pulsed inside her skull, in time with the violence of what she heard Erik playing, and suddenly the only thought in her mind was to make it all _stop_…

She shut her eyes tightly. The memories of those hours were blurry, as though seen through a haze of heat, or underwater. And things had gotten worse after that. Raoul had been there, and there had been the scorpion, and the grasshopper, and…

Christine froze. _Oh, God, what have I done_?!

She remembered turning the scorpion. For there had truly been no choice.

And now? What did she do now?

_I turned the scorpion_!

She had consented to marry Erik.

It might have been seconds or hours before Christine came back to herself, fingertips still at her bruised forehead, still half panicked at the implications of what she had agreed to.

_Would he really_…?

He would. She knew he would. Erik would see to it that she kept her promise. But dim memories began rising before her, half visible shadows of what must have occurred during her illness. The anger had vanished as though it had never been… He had been pleading with her not to leave him, she remembered that. Had she truly been so ill?

It was difficult to sort out what had been real and what was the result of fever dreams. Erik had sat with her, helped her to drink something that sent away the pain, she knew that. She thought she remembered being gently rocked in his arms—he had been singing a lullaby and weeping, with his face buried in her hair… And then falling asleep in his arms, only he really was the angel of music with beautiful, feathered wings that had cocooned her in a warm embrace… A nightmare in which she was alone in a freezing void, but the sound of his violin had been a golden thread to bring her back…

But now he would force her to marry him, he would once more be the dark Phantom and her Angel would vanish again. Had he killed Raoul? She remembered asking what had happened, but she couldn't recall his answer. And if Raoul was still alive, what would become of him? If he could find his way to Erik's house once, surely he could do so again… And this time she would escape with him, they would escape the Phantom…

But the scorpion had been turned and she had consented. But what would happen? If she could only be sure that he was still her Angel, perhaps she could persuade him to let her go. And even if he refused, she would find a way. Her Angel would never hurt her…

If he was angry, though…

And he had cause to be angry, she realized. She had lied to him, had intended to break the promise to return to give him an answer…

_Will you promise to come back and tell me, Christine? Even if the answer is no?_

She had hurt him. But she couldn't—She didn't want—

The pounding in her head was returning and her fingers moved to press against her temples in hopes of stemming the ache. She hissed at the rising tide of pain…

The door opened and Darkness entered.

Past her doorway the hall lay in shadow… it seemed the only light in the world came from that solitary candle, and even that faint light was beginning to stab at her eyes…

Erik was suddenly at her side, easing her hands away from the needle-like pain in her temples, lifting a teacup to her mouth filled with something that smelled vaguely of rosemary, and she heard reassuring words through the pain.

"It's all right, it will pass… breathe deeply…"

His body blocked the candle and the pain faded somewhat as she drained the cup. He moved to set the empty cup on the nightstand, but that made the candle visible again and a soft cry escaped her.

Once again, his hands were at her temples, moving gently over her head. "The light pains you?"

Grateful that he spoke softly, that he didn't seem angry, she nodded. A fresh wave of pain washed over her with the movement, and she gasped, eyes squeezed shut, and clutched at his hands.

"Be still," he murmured, moving one hand to lay it across her forehead. "It will fade, just relax." Erik eased her back onto the pillows, pulling the blanket up and tucking it around her shoulders. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, "Do you want me to put out the light?"

Fear of the dark fought against the pain… "Please." She whispered, clenching her fingers around his, her eyes closed even more tightly. One of his hands left hers for a moment, then the piercing light was gone and the soft darkness surrounded her.

Erik began to slide his hand out from hers, unwilling to cause her any more distress. She had been so ill…

But Christine moved quickly in her fear, struggling up from the pillows, for the darkness would no longer be healing if he left, and then the pain would return… She caught his hand in both of hers, dismay and fright flowing over her, and her trembling whisper stopped him. "Please, Erik, don't leave me!"

He froze, disbelieving, but she was trembling, whether from terror or pain, he couldn't tell. Gently, he took her hands in his.

Christine clutched tightly at his fingers. She shivered, and then she couldn't seem to stop, the tears came, and all she could do was cry…

His hands left hers, but then his arms were around her, stroking her back, her hair, and she pressed closer, desperate not to be alone, and amazed, in a far corner of her mind, at her actions, at her fists wound tight in the fabric of his shirt, her head resting over his heart…

The tears abated and Christine rested in Erik's embrace, still clinging tightly to him. One hand continued to stroke her hair, drawing the pain out of her head. The soothing, repetitive motion combined with the warm darkness calmed her and left her clear-minded once more. She should be afraid of him, he could turn on her at any moment, he might become angry with her again…

But in the quiet darkness his anger did not exist. Neither did his hatred… nor hers.

Questions swirled through her mind and she remembered once again that she had promised to marry him. But she was far too relaxed to be horrified, for her cheeks to blush, for her stomach to twist. This was so peaceful after the pain… just for another moment, and then she would ask what he intended to do…

In the darkness, Erik rested his head against Christine's, his eyes closed, and tears trailing under his mask. She had promised to stay, but her illness had given him time to think, and he was once again drowning in sea of grief and self-hatred…


	3. appraisal of darkness

Disclaimer: See Part1!

A/N: Once again, our favorite phantom is an absolute pain to write (okay, it could be the fact that this is a transition chapter, but still)! I swear he reads what I'm writing over my shoulder and glares at me if there's something he doesn't like! I keep telling him to stop or I'll make Christine run back to Raoul, but does he listen to me? No such luck.

Thank you notes (in red ink on black-edged paper) go to AshleytheStrange, Sue Raven, Olethros, Some Random Phantom, Madame Futterbly, Midasgirl, Z'yiandria, and Angelic Lawyer. Grazie molti, miei amici! Molti apprezzato!

Part Three: Appraisal of Darkness

Upon waking, Christine had to blink to be certain her eyes were truly open. The darkness was absolute, but she could feel gentle arms around her, a hand entwined in her curls, and her cheek was pillowed atop a torso that rose and fell in time with deep, quiet breathing.

Her first coherent thought was how blissfully safe and sheltering his embrace was.

Second was the realization of the absence of pain—she felt as well as ever. Better than ever, sunk in a pool of serenity that owed much to the unconscious tenderness of his arms.

The third thought was one of fear and horror, pulse racing, heart in her throat, as she realized her position. How had she come to be in such a state with Erik?!

Thoroughly awake now, Christine resisted the impulse to tear away from his arms, for it would wake him. Too afraid to move, almost too afraid to breathe…

Erik remained asleep.

As the minutes crept by, her heart slowed and her breathing evened out. It was difficult to remain afraid in such gentle security… and anyway, she remembered with a blush, she had asked him to stay… Her blush deepened at the memory of her hysterics. What Erik must think of her! The tears had been too powerful to hold back—it was as if all the unfulfilled tension of that ill-fated performance as Marguerite, combined with the terror of the choice afterward, had all spilled out at once. But he had been gentle; he had been her Angel once more, unquestioning and unwavering in his care of her. The dark Phantom who had torn her from the stage and forced such a terrible choice upon her… it did not seem possible that he had even existed!

Christine remained very still. Her fear faded away. Would this be so terrible, to wake like this every morning? Was it so awful to feel his arms around her? The feeling that nothing could hurt her while she was in his arms, the desire to remain in this warm cocoon forever… Her cheeks flamed still further and her stomach fluttered. Raoul, think of Raoul. Where was he? And how would she ever get away from here?

Erik's eyes were open and unblinking.

He had stared at the invisible ceiling for hours, torn between despair and euphoria. The soft weight of Christine's head on his shoulder, the way she had snuggled into his arms, the feel of her hair in his hands… how could he give up such a dream? And yet, how could he force her to stay? Could he truly condemn her to such a life? He had manipulated her into giving her consent to marry him… but how could he ever force her to follow through with her promise?

After depositing the unconscious Vicomte and Nadir in one of the upper cellars, he had sealed off all the entrances… there would be no unwelcome guests; all his secret doors were locked from the inside and any entry would require explosives. They couldn't remain barricaded in here forever, but there would be time to deal with that later. She had been so ill! He had panicked when she fainted and had remained at her bedside until absolutely certain she would recover.

He wondered what the Vicomte was planning. Erik was fairly certain that neither of his two "guests" had alerted the police and he was also certain that neither of them would give up so easily… which meant that they still feared what he would do to Christine. But the madness of hatred was gone, and with it all thought of hurting her. Despair welled up from deep inside, filling his entire being… What had he done?! Perhaps it was time to complete what he'd always been too cowardly to do. Poison, perhaps, or a single bullet, and it would all end…

_Life is never ours to take… If you remember nothing else, Erik, remember that._

Erik closed his eyes. That maddened desperation, born of the betrayal and imminent loss of his shining angel—the delirium of those hours had been the very worst he could remember since Persia… But this time Nadir was in no position to keep him from drowning in insanity. And Christine had paid the price…

Only a lifetime's worth of control over his reflexes kept his breathing even as she stirred and then froze. He could feel her terror, but then, inexplicably, it had drained away and she once more cuddled against him. He wondered if he should speak, should move away from her. Certainly he ought to detach himself from an embrace that was certain to be unwelcome! But this paradise couldn't last. And while it did, he couldn't move.

Christine wondered if she only imagined the faint catch in his breathing, the slight acceleration in his heartbeat. There was only one way to find out…

"Erik?" Her whisper was timid, but he heard it. Whether he had been awake or not, his movements were smooth and swift—she only realized that he had extricated himself from their embrace when the cold air replaced his warmth and she was unable to suppress a soft sound of dismay.

"Christine." His voice was aloof. "Good morning." Then the candle was lit and, by the tiny clock next to it, she could see that it really was morning.

She pulled the blankets closer. It was one thing not to be afraid of him in the dark, but along with the sight of him came that faintly threatening mystery. She wished she were dressed, wished she was at least standing, that she didn't feel so very vulnerable…

"Is the pain gone?" His voice was concerned and she looked up in relief.

He was still her Angel.

"Y-yes. I mean, it is." She was well again, he would hold her to her word, she would be forced to marry a monster…

That lovely, gentle voice halted her panic once more. "Do you think you could manage some broth? Or would you like tea?"

"I—It's— Either is fine." Oh, she could have bitten her clumsy tongue. How was it that her wits deserted her so suddenly? Her mind railed at her to say something, anything, but then he was gone and there was only the play of candlelight and shadows about the walls.

Something would happen today. She was well now; there was no longer the in-between reality of her illness to spare them the reality of the scorpion… And the next few hours would be dangerous.

Shaking from that realization and from the lingering disappointment that she no longer rested in his embrace, Christine fought the urge to hide under the blanket.

Outside her room, Erik leaned against the wall with shaking hands covering his masked face.

The nightmare had passed. The interlude was over. The future loomed and both Erik and Christine were filled with terror at the thought that it would become another nightmare from which there would be no waking…


	4. darkness evaluated

Disclaimer: See Part One. As for the delay, blame Erik. He's been ranting to me about his recent incarnation in the ALW movie (apparently he can't decide if he loves it or hates it and, to be frank, neither can I).

O.G.'s regards to Olethros, Sue Raven, Chantal, Some Random Phantom, Mary Jo Miller, lazy.kender19, Cyranothe2nd, AshleytheStrange, Mel, fell4adeadguy, LadyWillow, Angelic Lawyer, Riene, Saphire Starlet, Adriaane.

Part Four: Darkness Evaluated

Erik had brought her a cup of steaming tea that had chased away the last, subtle vestiges of her illness, and had left without a word. That had been quite awhile ago and Christine was growing restless. There were no sounds from outside her room, no trace of his violin, the organ was silent… the only noise in the world seemed to be the sound of her own breathing.

Long moments passed as she stared at the empty teacup on the nightstand. Stark white porcelain… the fragile beauty of the cup was all in the structure, the graceful lines of its form, rather than any decoration or ornamentation. Sometimes it seemed like so much of everything in the world of opera was overdone. Carlotta, for instance… Christine fought a grin. It had certainly been poetic justice, the incident during Il Muto! Really, Erik ought to have—

Christine threw back the blankets with far more force than necessary and drew her knees to her chest, curling tightly against herself and hiding her face. Her breathing grew irregular. No. She wouldn't think about this, she wouldn't think about him. She _couldn't_ think about him, she would go mad! He would come back any moment and then what? What would he do? He had been kind to her while she was ill, yes, but after this morning… and she was better now… what had she been _thinking_… what of Raoul… she had to get _away_!

The pain of knots in her stomach finally brought her back to the present and she forced herself to regain her composure. Deep breaths, in and out. Deep, cleansing breaths, from the diaphragm, just as Erik had taught her.

Erik.

What was he doing now? There was no music, not a sound outside her room. Supposing he was gone? That he had left her? Christine uncurled from her pillows and swung her feet around, lowering them over the side of the bed to the carpet. What if she was alone in the underground house? Perhaps she could escape… but she had promised…

She froze, staring at her feet.

Christine had heard Raoul when he had been calling to her from the torture chamber. So he must have been able to hear her. Raoul must have heard the ultimatum she had been given… and he must have heard her choice. She brought a hand to her mouth, pressing tightly in an attempt to fight the tears that burned her eyes once more.

Raoul had heard her. He must have! He had always been wary of the subject of her Angel… and he had been so cynical before the performance.

_Perhaps I should hear you say goodbye to him… or I'll always wonder if you only meant to say au revoir…_

She had never even told him that she loved him! Not truly! When he had needed to hear it most, she had been silent. When he had needed her reassurance, she had demanded his! And if he had heard her consent to marry Erik… What if Raoul had given up on her? She had never reassured him, never silenced the doubts and fears he had expressed when she'd tried to explain about Erik. Given her behavior before their conversation on the rooftop, and given what he had to have overheard, such a response would be unsurprising.

What if she managed to escape from here only to find that Raoul had forsaken her?

Christine remained frozen, staring at the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. Who would protect her now? She shook her head.

Protection.

Perhaps she no longer deserved it.

The air around the shores of the lake was bitingly cold and Erik's breath misted before him as he paced, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He forced himself to stand still, despite the restless energy that coursed through his veins. This had to be done, there was no alternative. No matter what he wished or dreamed, this was inevitable. And better it was done now, while he still had the resolve…

Erik had not lost track of the days during Christine's illness, nor forgotten that it was the day that Nadir usually "visited" the fifth cellar to check up on him. The only question was whether the daroga would appear after the events of the previous week… No, that was not strictly true. Nadir would come, Erik knew, it was only a question of whether or not there would be an armed reception at the meeting…

"Hello, Erik." Nadir's voice was quiet.

Erik wearily turned to face him. "Nadir."

There was a heavy silence. He took a deep breath and continued. "I see the Vicomte does not accompany you today. After our last encounter, I would have thought you'd have brought him along."

Nadir gave a bitter laugh, his eyes saddened. "Hardly." He studied Erik for a moment. "I didn't think you would come."

"Didn't you? Then why are you here?"

Silence again, while Nadir looked out across the lake. "Erik," he whispered "Let her go. You must see reason—you cannot keep her like this!"

"Really? Then just how should I keep her?" The retort slipped out before Erik could control it. He held up a hand when Nadir drew in a sharp breath to reply. "No. Listen. You want answers."

"Yes." Nadir nodded, his eyes confused and wary.

Erik took a deep breath. _This must be done_. "Very well. On the condition that you allow me to finish before you deliver whatever lectures and condemnations you undoubtedly have prepared."

A pause. "Agreed."

_This must be done_! Turning toward the lake, away from the piercing and quietly accusing eyes of his friend, Erik clasped his hands tightly behind his back. No matter the pain, the despair, and the agony that life would be without her…

_This must be done_!


	5. inside darkness

Disclaimer: see Ch. 1. Many apologies for the long delay—I've been off painting in London and starving artists have no money for internet cafes.

O.G.'s regards to MindGame, All Apologies, fiducia, fell4adeadguy, monroe-mary, aries-chica56, Sue Raven, Pickledishkiller, Kytten, The Scorpion, Enchanting Angel, and x (when not L). Much thanks, everyone!

Part Five: Inside Darkness

Nadir stood in stunned silence for several moments after Erik finished speaking, then dropped his gaze and seemed to close in on himself behind a wall of distance that Erik had seen him employ during his time as the Shah's chief of police in Mazanderan. "You are certain?"

Erik's hands fisted in the thick folds of his cloak and he whirled to face the lake once more. "Yes." He whispered. He was aware of the return of that piercing stare, but was far too focused on maintaining his precarious grip on both grief and heartbreak to care. _Let it end, please let this end_. How was it possible to endure such pain? Physical pain was nothing to this…

"Truly?" The daroga continued quietly.

"Yes." Erik managed to suppress the sobs rising in his throat long enough to answer firmly.

"Very well, Erik, I will be there."

"Thank you."

Silence. A disbelieving silence that contained shock, relief, and… sadness? No. Impossible. Not after everything that had happened. Suddenly, all he wanted was to run, to flee far from eyes that were calling back sickening, unending memories of other eyes, of appalled stares and the screams that were never far behind…

"Erik…"

He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly, and turned once more to face Nadir. The daroga took a hesitant step forward, started to raise a hand, and then seemed to think the better of it. The desperate need to run coalesced into icy fury at this show of pity. His jaw clenched. Pity! No. Not now, not ever! He spun on his heel back towards the lake and sprang into the boat without another word.

"Wait! Erik!"

He did not even look over his shoulder as he poled away from the shore. "Tomorrow, daroga. And mind that you are not late."

Nadir stood looking into the darkness for a long time, the damp, pervasive chill of the cellars soaking into complaining joints and bones that had never really adjusted from the warmth of Mazanderan. Incredulity spun through his mind in step with anger, but as the cold seeped into his bones, so did a certainty of what must have happened to Erik since the evening in the torture chamber. Finally he bent and retrieved his lantern. He had seen many things in Erik during the course of the events regarding Christine Daaé, elation, anger, madness, and obsession, but this was the first time he'd ever seen total despair in those golden eyes. Despair, resignation, and a grief that Nadir knew intimately. After all, he'd seen it in the mirror every day since Rookheeya had died.

His heart sank as he returned to the world above the cellars, for he knew only too well what loss was like. And despite everything, it was imminent loss that he saw in Erik's eyes. Nadir's senses had not dimmed in the years since Persia, nor had his powers of observation and analysis, and he could reach only once conclusion: Erik truly loved Christine Daaé.

On the Rue Scribe, Nadir paused and set the lantern down just inside the gate before struggling past the heavy iron bars and down the lane into the evening. Even as he made a mental note to tell Erik that the hinges needed oiling, he wondered how he would ever endure what tomorrow would hold, for despite what his conscience and innate sense of justice demanded, the daroga was still torn. For Christine Daaé's sake this would be all for the best, that was undeniable.

Yet as Nadir made his way to the de Chagny residence, he had the horrible sense of wielding the knife at a mercy killing. The shadow of grief in Erik's eyes would become a reality. Perhaps it was sadly fortunate that Erik's health was failing. The body could not survive without the heart, Nadir knew, and he'd seen cracks spiderwebbing through a heart that would shortly shatter.

Inside the house on the lake, Erik sat before the fire, his head in his hands. There was a nearly imperceptible shift of air, the tiny sound of bare feet on a carpet, and he looked up. Two pairs of tear-filled eyes met.

"I—I thought you'd left. That is… I…" Christine's voice was as pale as her face and she swayed on her feet.

Erik caught her as she fell.


End file.
